


Nocturnal Conclaves

by Andrina_Nightshade



Series: Andrina's Canonverse Short Fics [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Childhood Trauma, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), HEA, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Nightmares, No Pregnancy, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Sharing a Bed, Socks, Talking, The Force Ships It, There was only one bed (Force Bond edition), Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), melodrama for the sake of melodrama, not TROS compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade
Summary: 5 times Rey and Ben share a bed via the Force. Or... There was only one bed - Force Bond edition.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Andrina's Canonverse Short Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989178
Comments: 32
Kudos: 158





	Nocturnal Conclaves

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration is a fickle mistress. Trying to write space couples counselling for the Star Crossed Idiots™ over in _Kintsugi_ and this is what my muse gave me instead.

**One**

Though the chasm between them has yet to mend, they have started talking almost cordially. They have shared too many nightmares, both waking and dreamscape, to continue snarling at each other like hungry rathtars. 

Therefore, when he awakens to find Rey in his bed (via that damned Force bond and its proclivities - not how he wishes to share her bed), there is no anger; naught but a little awkwardness. They shuffle to opposite edges of the bed, and hold each other’s eyes.

His skin is clammy and his heart pounding from the last vestiges of his nightmare. Her expression is soft. 

“Ben,” she says, her voice roughened from sleep. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kylo/Ben shakes his head. He is Ben in their quiet moments. Kylo Ren is a warlord, a conqueror, the man with the power to rattle the very stars. Ben is her reluctant bond-mate, and perhaps even her friend. 

They have never spoken words of forgiveness to one another. But they know the heart of each other. And that is enough to stay their tempers and their sabers.

“Go back to sleep, Rey,” he tells her, rolling onto his back. The space between them may as well be a galaxy (and he supposes that is what separates them now), but he can almost feel heat radiate her from, like an engine in motion. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I have nightmares too.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“I know.” He turns his head to face her; her eyes are raw, and there is evidence of tear tracks upon her cheeks. Slowly enough that she may withdraw, he reaches out and brushes away a single tear.

There is no life-altering Force vision between them. No whispered secrets of an equivocal future, no private nocturnal fantasy shared. 

Her lips part as though in response…

And then she is gone.

The sheets still smell like her. He buries his face in it, and wonders how long before one of them breaks and turns.

When the cleaning droid changes his bedding that afternoon, as is their ritual, he takes a saber to its central processing unit.

And he can only hope that she will come back again tonight.

===

**Two**

The next time, it is not a nightmare which jolts him awake.

It is the unpleasant press of something ice-cold against his bare calf. 

He yelps; the cold withdraws.

He opens his eyes to a bleary-eyed Rey, one hand on her darkened saber. One of her shoulders is exposed. She slips the lightsaber beneath her pillow, and replaces the sleeve of her shirt. “Sorry,” she mumbles, her cheeks reddening.

It takes his mind a few moments to catch up. 

“Was that your foot?” He asks. She nods. “Kriff, Rey - your feet are like ice!”

He rises from his bed, and fumbles for a moment in the closet space. She watches him with a frown, pulling the covers over her chest. Ben chuckles. He finds a pair of socks, but then tugs a shirt over his bare chest. He has no concerns regarding modesty, but wants her to feel comfortable.

“I grew up in the desert, remember?” She says as he sits on the edge of the bed. There is a wariness in her eyes as he lifts the covers at her feet. “Ben?”

He lifts her foot and slides one of his socks onto it. Her feet are much smaller than his; she hisses as his fingers caress the arch of her foot. At first, he moves to withdraw his touch, but then something flickers across the bond to him. “Are you… ticklish?” He says, biting down on a smile.

She grouses but nods anyway. “I suppose. No-one’s ever tested it before.” A feeling of sorrow rises within him; she must sense it because she looks away. “I don’t need your pity, Ben.”

She snatches the other sock from his grasp, and tugs it on. The fabric reaches almost to her knees. “Kriff, your feet are large.”

A saucy comment lingers on his lips, unsaid. But she senses the heat of his thoughts, yet does not withdraw. 

“Careful, Solo,” she drawls, and for once that name doesn’t hurt. Not a reminder of the blood on his hands, of the man whose death was not the crux of his training but the start of his fall; not the epithet of his whole miserable life. She speaks it casually, as a friend.

This time, they get warning before the bond dissolves. He climbs back into bed, and they face each other.

Rey playfully brushes her now clothed foot over his calf. “Thank you,” she murmurs through half-lidded eyes before the Force pulls her away.

He would have endured the cold just to feel her skin against his for a moment more. 

===

**Three**

He dreams of scorching sands, of parching thirst, and a deep, aching well of loneliness. A wall with too many scratches. Hunger gnaws at his stomach, so fierce it is _painful_. He hears the cry of a child, loud as a thunderstorm. It claws at his heart, a physical pain so much worse than the hunger. He curls into himself, but there is no comfort to be found.

Until the scene shifts; and he is back in his quarters on the _Finalizer._ Where the air is sterile and unmoving; the walls are free of markings; and the only cry is a muffled sob against his chest, now damp with Rey’s tears.

He nestles her close; drops a kiss into her hair; rubs soothing circles against her back. Her feet - still clothed in his borrowed socks, he thinks with just a touch of triumph - entangle with his own.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against his skin, lifting her gaze to meet his.

“You told me you had nightmares too,” he says, unwilling to loosen his grasp around her. Once, she would have pulled away. Now, she burrows closer. “I’m sure you’ve seen much worse, rattling around in my mind.”

“Suffering isn’t a competition, Ben,” she tells him. Her fingers brush a hesitant caress over the moles of his chest. Her touch is electric; and he knows his body is on the edge of betraying him. Only with great reluctance does he release her from his grasp. “As bad as Jakku was, at least I had the freedom of my own mind and thoughts.”

“If you but say the word, Rey, I would burn that entire system to ashes.”

Her withdrawal is more than just physical. “You can let the past die without resorting to violence, Ben.” Her gaze is serious as she looks upon him. “And I never want you to do it in my name. Jakku can’t hurt me any more. _They_ can’t hurt me any more.”

But pain is more than just physical. They both know it.

Rey sniffles, and wipes her nose on the corner of his/her sheets. The act should disgust him - but all he wants, as desperately as air, is her back in his arms again.

She wants the same; their mutual desire hangs in the air. He only has to nod his acquiescence, and she is once more in his embrace. Her tears have dried, and her heart beat slowed. Her brow rests against his shoulder, and she brushes a kiss to the scar she left there.

Emboldened, he hooks a finger under her chin, tilts it upwards. Close enough to feel her breath on his skin. 

But she is the one to press her mouth to his. Her lips are warm, unbearably soft, and so pliant beneath his. She pulls him closer. Not close enough.

This is everything he had dreamed of. It is a culmination and a beginning. It is beautiful and painful. 

It isn’t the perfection of a romance holonovel. Their noses bump, and she tugs a little too hard on his hair to pull him closer. But it is _theirs_.

When they break the kiss, he presses her brow to hers. Sees every fleck and hue of her eyes, counts every freckle on her cheeks. Knows she is doing the same, committing his face to memory. This moment here, it is his favourite.

“Promise me,” she whispers, her words ghosting over his lips.

She could ask for _anything_ now, and he would give it without hesitation. “I promise,” he says, and captures her mouth for another kiss.

Perhaps the Force wanted this. It feels like the bond remains open for hours. They talk; a thousand murmured apologies for every hurt. They kiss again, and again, and again, until their lips are bruised and plump, and he forgets any taste that is not her. They wrap around one another.

When they are torn apart, Ben cries.

===

**Four**

Tonight, they don’t talk other than their murmured hellos as the bond opens. Not when they have so little time.

Ben’s fingers have already found their way into her hair, pulling loose her braid and sinking into her locks. His lips attack hers, bruising in their intensity; but he forgets that she fights back. She has defeated him in combat. He will not best her with a kiss.

And soon he is moaning against her mouth, unashamed in his desire for her. When she breaks the kiss for air, he _whimpers._

The Supreme Leader is _whimpering_ for her. Rey has never felt so raw, so _powerful._ Adrenaline floods her entire body. She could lift an entire mountain, crumble a building to dust, halt a thunderstorm in its tracks.

Instead, she kisses his neck; hard enough to bruise. This will fade, but she has marked him so much worse.

Ben will not be bested; he pins her to the bed with his giant frame. But this is the best sort of prison.

(And besides, a touch of the Force and soon _he_ will be the one upon his back.)

Hands slip under clothing, and they discover new places in which she is ticklish. Rediscover spots where _he_ is. 

They don’t talk with words; their bond is as vast and open as the ocean. Every thought slips between them; rapturous praise, burning desires, gentle teasing.

Love.

A galaxy and a war between them. But it means nothing in the sanctity of their kiss.

This time, there is no warning. One moment Ben’s hand is wandering beneath her shirt, beseeching permission in his gaze. And then his warmth fades, and she is alone in a bed which smells of him. 

Even his borrowed socks won’t keep her warm tonight.

She wonders how much longer they can endure this before their hearts break.

===

**Five**

On the edge of sleep, Rey hears her bed give a telltale groan. She rubs at her eyes before she opens them, lips already turning upwards.

But when she sees him, her smile fades.

Ben’s hair is slicked back and the stench of bacta burns in her nostrils. There are fresh cuts on his face, and one of his eyes is blackened. 

“Kriff Ben, what happened?” She says, as he burrows into her arms. Her neck grows damp with tears, and he hisses as she tugs him closer.

“Mutiny,” he says. He brushes bruised and bloodied lips against hers. “It seems my tenure as Supreme Leader has come to a brutal end.” His tone is too flippant, too much like his father.

Rey fists her hands into his torn shirt. “Where are you, Ben?”

“In a cell, on the _Finalizer._ Awaiting my very public execution.” Hair falls into his eyes, and he cannot meet her gaze for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Damnit, Ben Solo! I am _not_ going to let them kill you!” She grabs his jaw, forces him to look at her. “Tell me where you are. _Please_.” Her voice cracks on that single syllable. 

But he shakes his head. “I’m not worth it, Rey. Don’t risk your life for me.” He threads his fingers through her hair. The gesture, his words, they rip a sob from her throat. “This is what I deserve. ‘There is no death, there is the Force,’ remember.”

She silences him with a kiss. She tastes the iron in his blood; the salt in his sweat; and the blazing embers of his love for her. 

_I love you._

His breath hitches; she knows he has heard that thought. 

“I don’t deserve your love,” he tells her, a tremulous smile on his lips. “But know that I love you too. I want you to be happy, and safe. So please, no matter how much this hurts you, I need you to let this happen. Burn the First Order down, have your revenge… but when this is all over, find a green place, and live the rest of your life there.” He presses his brow to hers, so close it is almost _painful._ “I was never meant to be happy. That is your ending, not mine. But I am glad that the Force gave us these moments - gave me the chance to say goodbye.”

And then they are wrenched asunder.

===

Rey cries; but not for long. 

The bond still pulses, even though she cannot touch him. His heart still beats on the other end.

And she will burn the galaxy to ashes to find Ben Solo.

She slips her boots over the large socks - his socks - that she still wears to bed. They are the softest thing she owns; the only tangible thing she has of him. She dresses quickly, grabs her lightsaber. There is no time to leave a note, but Leia will understand.

Rey thought she would have to steal the _Falcon._ But when Chewie catches her, sees the stricken look on her face, he merely throws his paws in the air with a growl of _“Not again!”_ and settles into the co-pilots’ seat.

 _“If you come back crying again,”_ he tells her as they shudder out of hyperspace, _“I **will** rip his head off.” _

===

**+One**

Rey doesn’t remember whose idea it was to wait until they were in the same physical space. Certainly not hers - Jakku had eaten up all her patience, and she was done waiting for what she wanted. She would blame Ben entirely for that idiotic rule; except he constantly seemed on the precipice of breaking it too.

It was a stupid rule. They had wasted so much time, and come so close to never knowing this. Death, destruction have always loomed so near. 

And she has dealt much death tonight to bring him here.

But tonight is for them.

Kissing, it turns out, _is_ different through the bond. 

Her skin burns, hot as a fever. Even her bare feet are warm; at least, he hasn’t flinched when they come into contact with his skin. Chasing lips, questing hands, the press of so much _skin_ against hers as she writhes above him. 

Adoration smoulders in his eyes. He presses reverent kisses to every inch of her skin, whispers promises of his love, his devotion, his incredulity that this is _real_ . That _she_ is real, and wants him anyway. 

That is he about to lose his virginity in the very bunk he was probably conceived on. But that thought doesn’t cool his ardour. Or hers. The galaxy could implode outside this cabin, and he wouldn’t care bantha spit for it.

Still, they giggle like adolescents at the notion. 

Because now he has her, and she has him. The universe melts to two souls.

The first time that night is quick; his flush changes from one of desire to embarrassment in a heartbeat. But Rey only chuckles gently, not willing to untangle herself from him even as his body has other ideas. He will find other ways to sate her that night.

At least, until he is ready for round two.

And once they are both spent, they curl around each other like vines. They no longer fear the Force tearing them apart. Tonight, or any other night to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nina Gordon’s _Tonight and the Rest of My Life_ , and Patti Smith’s _Because the Night_ for providing inspiration/emotional support. 
> 
> Now on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AndrinaNightsh1) too! Come and say hello!


End file.
